no bath

“Why would you do that Havana?” I asked, slumping beside the bathtub. She threw her long tail back and forth, made a noise like someone rolling her r’s. “Do you know how much mommy wanted to soak in Epsom salts tonight?” Her head cocked sideways. “Do you have any idea how tired I am?”

She actually looked kind of proud of the dried little turds she’d left in the tub. She continued to ‘rrr’ and flip her tail.

I looked down. Poor people don’t have the option to feel this queasy, I reminded myself. Nor do they – we, sorry – have the leeway necessary to declare ‘I shall never use this tub again, it has become soiled beyond comprehension.’

What do poor people have? Dollar store bleach.

eekamouse

“What’s that she’s got?”
“Who?”
“Your cat. Havana. What does she . . . it’s a mouse! Oh my God she’s killing it!”
“I don’t have mice,” I sighed. I’m sure it’s just some, you know, thingie.”
“For fuck’s sake Lola I know when I have seen a mouse and I think she’s killing it oh God -”

I picked up Havana, pried the mouse from between her teeth. She squeaked angrily. She squeaks entirely too much; I suspect her miaow mechanism is faulty. “Look, it’s a bow.”
“Bow?”
“The thing you put on presents.”
“Oh. Well. What kind of a cat carries around a bow like that anyway. Like, carrying like it’s live prey kind of carrying it. What’s up with that?”
“Cats who don’t have any – um, many toys. Poor people’s cats.”
“Oh.”

lick

Havana sleeps on the pillow beside my own, which is either sweet and comforting or completely unsanitary, depending on your proclivities. Sometimes at night when dreaming or nightmaring my hand falls on her and she purrs. Mostly it wakes me up but sometimes it just becomes integrated in my dreams, which is why this morning I awoke with a start from a dream about an Iphone that was licking my hand.

8 weeks

“Havana,” he told me again, not slower but much louder, “is eight weeks old.” I shook my head. “Six. Impossible. Six weeks. Definitely.” He pulled out the chart and hmm’ed to himself.

“Yeppers. You brought her in four weeks ago for her antibiotics. She was four weeks old then, now she’s eight weeks.” He snorted. “And you wonder why she’s hungry all the time. You need to give her more kibbles!”

I bit my lip. I felt bad for Havana.